


how to rob your uncle's grave

by relationshipcrimes



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: But Still Mildly Strange, Gen, Not The Strangest Father-Son Bonding Talk You Ever Saw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 18:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relationshipcrimes/pseuds/relationshipcrimes
Summary: Miles saves the multiverse, gets sweet new powers, goes through a fairly-traumatic origin story, and has four whole days of riding high on a wave of new-and-improved teenaged self-esteem before some douche on the street looks him dead in the eye and says, "You couldn't have waited until Peter Parker was cold in his grave before stealing his name, huh?"





	how to rob your uncle's grave

Miles saves the multiverse, gets sweet new powers, goes through a fairly-traumatic origin story, and has four whole days of riding high on a wave of new-and-improved teenaged self-esteem before some douche on the street looks him dead in the eye and says, "You couldn't have waited until Peter Parker was cold in his grave before stealing his name, huh?"

The petty thief Miles just strung up stops squirming in his web. Pedestrians who've stopped to see the show go silent. A few of them pull out their phones.

Let's paint the scene for a bit.

Miles has a history test in two days, and for the first time since he got to Vision, he actually plans on acing it. It's still winter, and cold as balls. Miles has a zit on his forehead, and he's not going to lie, he's _kind_ of self-conscious about it. (Like, the whole thing about putting baby powder in the suit? Miles kind of hates that Peter was right about that.) In the cold, in his fresh, rad-as-hell Spidey suit, also with his mobile phone pressed up against his ass because he still hasn't figured out how to put pockets in this thing (seriously, where did Peter (blond version) put his keys? His wallet? Did he _not_ carry around a debit card; was Spiderman supposed to run on Spidercredit? Anyway, whatever)--in the cold, sweating from having strung up some villain-of-the-week with his cool Spiderpowers and feeling real proud of himself and looking at this pasty-faced white hipster with an undercut and faux-cargo pants, Miles abruptly remembers that Uncle Aaron's funeral was eight hours ago.

"What?" says Miles, very intelligently. (Fuck. Oh, shit, people are getting this on _camera_ , aren't they? Because he's _Spiderman_ and now _literally everyone_ gives a shit about Miles putting his foot in his mouth. Did he think high school spotlighting was bad? Somehow the scrutiny is a million times worse when he's got a literal mask over his face.)

"You know what I'm talking about, man," says Pasty Undercut. "They barely finished his service, his wife isn't even done grieving--" (Miles's Spidey-senses tell him that this man spends time on Reddit. Okay, maybe his Spidey-senses didn't tell him that. He just has eyes.) "--and you're running around, taking his name, in a knock-off of his suit. Dude, are you for real? You're _really_ going to take his name not even a week after he died?"

"Look, man," says Miles, but then stops, because what's he supposed to say? _I have a license from Peter Parker and it says he gave me a USB that I broke and also he got all his ribs broken in front of my eyes and therefore I can do what I want? Also I was metaphorically baptized in the blood of my estranged uncle who died in my literal arms and I have five other people who corroborate that this comes standard in becoming Spiderman?_ Wow, that's kind of a shitty license, even in his head. Thank god he didn't say that on camera. (There's six phones recording now, counting the girl who just pulled it out thirty feet down the sidewalk, coming closer. Cool, great, Spidey-senses very helpful at amplifying his already excruciatingly-keen sense of social pressure. Good thing he's already well-experienced in dealing with constant social scrutiny just by having been born Black in America.)

Okay, wait, quick--what would Spiderman do? "If you've got better ideas for a name when you stick to walls and shoot webs, hit me up," says Miles, and then immediately cringes. One of the men holding a recording phone frowns. _Fuck_. "Ah, nah, I mean--"

"You're making a _joke_ about this?" says Pasty Undercut.

"Hey, I didn't mean it like--" Miles fidgets, glances around for the police. "Guys, really? It's like, one in the morning. Do we have to do this now? Can't we just wait for the police? Look, this poor burglar's literally hanging upside down; let's just call it a night."

"Actually, I kind of want to hear this too," says the thief hanging in the web.

And Miles _kind_ of wants to tear his hair out. Except no, no, Miles is definitely going to keep his cool, he can do this, he's Spiderman, he defeated Kingpin and also had a badass one-liner while holding Peter Parker (hobo version) over a literal hole in the universe. He can hold his cool, he's got this--like dealing with a bully at school or something, or some jackass on the internet--

(What would Uncle Aaron say about bullies?)

(Uncle Aaron would say: _They don't know your life. They don't know_ you _, little man. Do your own thing. Be your own person. Don't mind those little guys. Keep your head up. Keep going._ )

"Peter and I were... cool," says Miles. "Like, he's fine with it. Uh, was fine with it. It's all square, alright? I promise I'm not, uh, stepping on his toes."

Is it just him, or does this sound _really_ terrible? One of the guys in the crowd looks at his friend (boyfriend?) with confusion.

"Just leave it alone. It's not my place to say," Miles mumbles.

"You just _conveniently_ can't tell us?" says Pasty Undercut. "What's the big secret? Peter Parker saved _me_ when Green Goblin wrecked my morning train. Peter Parker saved _most_ of the people in this city. Isn't that right?"

He looks around at the gathering crowd. There's some vague, almost sheepish nods. Two teenage girls are whispering furiously to each other and Miles does his very best to block out the Spidey-senses that inform him of all the judgmental bullshit they're saying.

"We're _all_ grieving for a guy we loved," says Pasty Undercut. "Who are _you_ to take his name and face?"

"He's Spiderman," says Dad.

\--wait, _Dad_?

Miles spins around and wow, he's _never_ been so relieved to see the police, or his dad, or his dad in his police uniform, as is he in that moment. "Break it up, kids," says Dad, with his shoulders and chest puffed out so everyone can see the police badge on his chest. "I heard there's a thief who need to take a ride in my car."

"You can't be serious," says Undercut. "This isn't Spiderman. This is some other guy, who took Spiderman's name and face like he owns it. It's graverobbing, is what it is--"

Dad looks down at Pasty Undercut. Dad is about a head and a half taller than he is. Undercut stops talking.

"Didn't know that Peter Parker had a copyright on vigilante work," says Dad. "Far as I know, everyone and their mother's taking justice into their own hands, nowadays. It's almost like _most_ citizens here want to do good things by their community."

"Oh my god," Miles mutters under his breath, because _why_ is Dad so embarrassing even when you're pretending to not be his son? The cheese, man. The _cheese_.

"He can get some other superhero name to do it with," Undercut argues.

"Hey Spiderman," says Dad, like the guy hadn't even spoken. "Load this guy up, will you?"

"That's the police's job," says Miles. "I just catch these guys and leave them in cute webs fifty feet in the air to show the police how bad of a job they're doing."

" _Excuse_ you," says Dad. 

"Actually," says the thief, still hanging in his web, "that's what the Peter-Parker-Spiderman did too, y'know."

Dad groans. Miles salutes. "If that's all, officer!" he says cheerily.

"Get the hell out of here, you wild vigilante," says Dad without any venom whatsoever.

Miles raises a hand to websling his way out of there, when he hesitates, looks back. Literally no one has put away their phone, and Pasty Undercut still looks pissed as hell. "Look," says Miles to Pasty Undercut, one last time, giving one more shot at trying to answer this guy. But the thing is, he didn't really know Peter Parker. He saw the guy die, and then he hollowed out the dude's life and wore him like a second skin, talked to his grave and his ghost like it'd care, but the truth is that the only person who ever knew Peter Parker was MJ. And MJ, the only person with the real right to grieve for Spiderman, gave him away for anyone to own, like thousands and thousands of merchandise to live in everyone's hearts, plastic talismans to keep them safe, ten million images of Peter Parker replicated on your TV screen, your computer screen, your mobile screen, reflecting you and your reasons back at you. Public service to the end. Peter Parker never even graduated from grad school. 

Undercut crosses his arms.

"Never mind," says Miles, and gets the hell out of there.

 

* * *

 

 

That could have gone worse. 

(But probably not by a lot.)

 

* * *

 

 

Actually, Miles follows Dad all the way to the police department and lurks outside on the roof railing, which is probably not what he's supposed to do as Spiderman, but hell,  _he's_ Spiderman now, right? He kicks it on the roof railing and does backflips with his cool Spider-reflexes or whatever until Dad comes out onto the cold sidewalk with a fuzzy beanie that says _World's Best Husband_ in embroidery and Miles kind of regrets ever coming here because Mom, _please_.

"So you're sticking around, huh?" Dad calls up to the roof.

Miles steps off the railing, slippery smooth, and drops down on a web strand. He hangs upside-down because he saw Spiderma--well, Peter Parker do it once, and it was super cool, and that's what Miles is being right now. Play it cool, Miles. Also, don't act like Miles, act like someone who's not Miles and therefore not Dad's literal flesh-and-blood son. "Yep," says Miles, super coolly and not-at-all-Miles-y. "It's nice to get a thank-you now and then, you know, considering..."

Dad snorts. "Nice try. Vigilantes won't get a thank-you from me. I mean, you're sticking around with this Spiderman gig, then."

"I don't think you get into the Spider-business for fun," says Miles. He can feel five other Spider-people _at a minimum_ kicking him in the shins for that understatement.

"Figured," says Dad. "The way the red-and-blue Spiderman stuck around, I figured he had reasons to keep at it. You've got reasons to keep at it too, don't you?"

Suddenly Miles doesn't want to have this conversation. "I guess so," he says, and then immediately makes a mental note to never say that ever again because he definitely sounded like a surly teen who didn't want to talk to his dad just then.

But Dad nods. He doesn't ask. "We all do," he says.

It's two in the morning. Uncle Aaron's funeral was nine hours ago, and suddenly Miles puts it together: Dad joined the police force _because_ he knew that Uncle Aaron was getting into dangerous business with Kingpin, and it _wasn't_ a weird coincidental mistake, one brother joining the cops and the other joining the bad guys. How long did Miles not know? How long did that go on? How long did Uncle Aaron tell himself he was working for Kingpin for his family, while Dad signed up with the police for the same family?

Miles has the words between his teeth: _My reason is the moment your brother bled out in front of me. My reason is your grief. My reason feels like Uncle Aaron dying in my hands, never alive, never dead, and I can't remember anything from his funeral, and I can't remember anything from his apartment. The reasons I've got keep your brother dying, every minute of every day; my reasons mean the dead are never, ever cold in their grave._

"Just between you and me," says Dad, entirely oblivious, "I don't mind. The thing about you being the new Spiderman, I mean."

"Oh," says Miles. He's still hanging upside down. Maybe that's why his head feels light and heavy at the same time. "That's--uh, that's good, that's great. Thanks? I guess? I mean--it's not like I've got a heck of a lot of choice, considering that my powers are, like, the exact same as the last guy's? Not that that's an excuse, but it's not like there's a lot of other critters out there that stick to walls and shoot webs?"

"I'm just saying, don't mind that undercut guy," says Dad.

"Who, me, minding that guy? Actually, which guy? Because I was not-minding so super hard that I don't remember."

Dad actually laughs this time. "Alright, alright. And, also just between you and me--" Dad looks over his shoulder, and leans in: "I don't think Peter Parker minds, either."

Now Miles looks at his own Dad in confusion. "Did you know Peter Parker?"

"No," says Dad. "I know dead people don't care about anything. See you later, Spiderman," says Dad, and turns to go back inside. Somehow, it feels like Uncle Aaron just got shot in front of Miles's eyes all over again.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Miles crawls back to his school dorm. It's nearly three in the morning, and he's wondering if he can sneak into his own family home again, but he's trying to not be a baby anymore. Instead, he strips to his skivvies, slinks under his own covers, pulls out his phone, and in the dark, looking straight into the light of his phone screen, he begins a list in his phone notes app. It says:

  1. _Tell the next one that you don't become Spiderman. You're becoming Spiderman._



That's not right. Aw, hell; Miles was never good with words. 

He gets out of bed and draws, in black and white, a creature that looks maybe like Spiderman, like the black, negative space in the middle of the artwork he put up in the subway, but it's huge, grotesquely large, full of faces. It's overfull with eyes and laughing mouths and its veins are city streets. It's got no face of its own, and has no outline; its borders are made with the white chalk that surrounds recent corpses on crime scenes. He colors it with green and orange; its chest is full of colors of the sunrise on the way to morning classes. And then Miles puts the picture away and tries not to think about it, because he's young, he's in high school, he's a teenager, and he and his parents are going to live forever.


End file.
